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User blog:Noobbatta/the life of an soup seller
well, some sort of book I say so uh. buckle up. get the pop corn and scroll over. anyways, lets go. August 15th, 1812. French Frontline I went over to set up my soup shop in the cool forest. building with wood on the outside, dang it looks bad. but then, I pour the tasteless broth instantly in the gabion right when I made that comment. Looking over to my old guard regiment, they look hungry, I better get going. I then grasp on to the carrots, carefully cutting them into orange cylinders. I finished cutting and then I moved the cutting board closer the gabion. With my knife, I drew it closer to the broth, and then no more of those cylinders. Awhile I was busy cutting some of those small feather-like leaves out of the celery, I hear music. Frankly, it has come to me, boosting my speed. When I was done with it. I drew my wooden spoon, and began to stir the broth, it isn't soup without the buyer. After it looked like it was done, I took a small sip. Yes! this soup was ready to be served. "soup please." is all what I hear. the rest is slurping, unknown talking, too bad I don't have good hearing. While I was sitting back, smiling I hear a tattered solider yell "The Russians are coming!" Now this was a bad time for me, as I had to retire from my job and make some useful buildings for my team. I didn't like it, but to help my team, I had to do it. Battle of Frozen Forest, August 16th The regiment got kinky and took the muskets sitting near the trees. The frozen Forrest was our problem, as we were not adapted to the cold. As we marched to Smolensk, I felt a bad vibe. When I was younger I loved stories about the roman empire. Some stories were about when some roman regiments got ambushed in the forest. This made a bad vibe every time I cross a forest, but frankly, it didn't happen. But today, was an huge failure. As I crossed the frozen forest, I heard some Russian voices, as I heard them, the others heard them also. They halted as the officer commanded "Form square!" said the officer. We stood our ground, glancing over as if we wondered why the trees were speaking Russian, when I figured that the wondered that they thought about this, I knew these soldiers weren't good and sharp. and I heard a loud URAAA! I also heard gunshots. The gunshots killed 3 men, and officer gave the order. "Fire at will!" As they all fired, I witnessed the deaths and wounds. Then bayonet attackers charged in, waves and waves, they tried to stab us, and smack us with the stock. I saw the 2 waves die out quickly, and then, I drew out my axe, blocking the bayonets and mercilessly slashing my devastating blade into the skin. Guns were fired, bayonet me, stabbed. it was a gruesome fight. But then, I screwed up them solider managed to stab me yelling out an war cry, and as i fell to my knees helplessly, as the solider died with a gun planted on his head. I then lay down in the ground as if i were dead. I groan with pain. Aftermath: 01200 Hours As 35 minutes pass, and the Russians fully won the combat, I open my eyes. Seeing nothing but corpses. Looking to the other side, I see a Russian fireteam. This was a bad time for me, as the officer yelled "Make sure the dead is really dead!" Now I lay here, hoping for the best. After about 15 minutes, they retreat back to the platoon. When they were out of sight, I stand up. Looking at the bodies, I walk through them in shame. I also see our officer. Whom was wounded. As I helped him up, he left the most important part of his uniform. his bicorne. As I pulled him back to the soup store, he said "Bud, imma die." With a sigh, I drew out my quill pen and got a small piece of fabric-like paper. I then wrote ' Massacre at frozen Forrest, send help. august 16, 1815 Hank Quiver ' I carried the officer on my back, and walked. French Camp, 1815. As I made it back to camp, I the officer was hurried into the tent by some medics. I then sat down with my head raised on the sky a bit. "How'd it go?" William said. I turned to William, and with a glance I say "Bad, Small company of the Old Guard got massacred." I then say "Well, its an hell of a trip." Russian Frontlines 1815 - Boris Plosk After the ambush we did, the regiment marched back to the camp. At there, I waited, preparing my wonderful cheese. Category:Blog posts